Journey to Elsewhere: A Novel

By Marilyn Estes Quigley

Twelve-year-old twins, Leon and DeeAnn, and their little brother, Caleb, are devastated by the mysterious disappearance of their beloved great-uncle Azer. The grieving siblings are determined to be content with cherishing his left-behind mementos. But one evening, those items summon an antique express train into Union Station, Washington DC.

The kids' decision to board strands them on a farm near West Chester, Pennsylvania, where they're thrust into the secret Underground Railroad system transporting escaping in 1854. Removed from the twenty-first century into a time without electricity, antibiotics, and cars, they struggle to adjust. Fitting in and hiding their time-travel secret, however, are not their most difficult tasks. They must drive a wagon with a false bottom to trick the slave catchers and run at midnight on dark streets in search of a doctor. Even worse, DeeAnn must walk in broad daylight on a road with escapees slaves.Through it all, they're determined to work against nineteenth-century racial prejudice.

The kids' worst fears materialize when the Time Line Express is not available for return to their own century in Alexandria, Virginia. Will they spend the rest of their lives stuck in a difficult and dangerous era, never to see their parents and friends again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781973681564

Marilyn Estes Quigley

Marilyn Estes Quigley, for many years a professor of English at Evangel University, loves to travel and to read and write historical stories. She also enjoys lunching with friends, watching movies at home, and visiting with family—two sons and daughters-in-law and three grandchildren. Her non-fiction book, Hell Frozen Over, follows her uncle’s path in The Battle of the Bulge. Marilyn lives in Springfield, Missouri, with her husband, Ed (cover artist). This is her debut novel.

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 Marilyn Estes Quigley.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by

any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author

except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-8157-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-8158-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-8156-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019920149

WestBow Press rev. date: 03/28/2020

For Leor, Dee Dee, and Avner

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you…

Collin Quigley for remarking, Mom, you should write a book for kids.

Bryan Quigley for providing the children who inspired the characters’ names (though not their personalities).

Diane Awbrey for brainstorming with me in 2010 to discover all the possible historical eras my characters might visit as time travelers.

Sharon Davis, Kim Piddington, and Suzanne Walker-Pacheco for the weekly critiques during two or three years—excellent, and necessarily ruthless writers helping me plot, shape, characterize, omit, clarify, tighten, revise, and edit as well as encouraging me to keep on.

Rachel Goldberg, Janey Cheaney, and Shirley Shedd for extensive first-draft evaluations. Sherry Stewart, Juleen Turnage, and Esther Wood for final editing.

Dee Dee Quigley, Stephanie Quigley, and Anastasiya Gulak for reading and making suggestions on all or parts of the novel.

Laurel Brent for nightly readings of an early version to her children, Addie and Wyatt Birgenheier, my first young fans many years ago.

Lucas Turnage, Brinson Moore, Jacob Ray who, while still children, read all or parts of early versions and offered questions, suggestions, praise, and criticism. (Kid-readers are brutally honest, fortunately.)

The Chester County Historical Society for 1850s information concerning West Chester, Pennsylvania.

Eliezer Oyola for lending his name and face (in my mind) to Uncle Azer.

Kay Chaudhri, Nancy Dailey, Louise Jackson, Deb Kukal, Rose Lombardo, Debbie Morris, John Mort, Ken Norton, Nancy Shelton, Dixie Simpson, and Adrianna Williams, Springfield Writers’ Workshop members, for weekly critiques of five-page segments.

Chantey McGhee-Bailey, Jean Dean, and Heather Rosner, teachers at George Mason Elementary School in Alexandria, Virginia, for allowing use of their names in the novel.

WestBow Press personnel for assistance in each step of the publishing process.

Dan Rockafellow for professional cover and author photography.

Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators for providing many helpful conferences.

Ed Quigley, my husband, for watching TV alone many nights when I was writing; for encouraging me to drag my manuscript off my computer (where it had been sleeping peacefully three years); and for painting the novel’s cover.

Contents

1 Where Is He?

2 Best Friends Forever

3 The Sound of Wind

4 Where Are We?

5 Is This Real?

6 Breaking the Time Barrier

7 Rain or Trains?

8 Unexpected Guests

9 Something You Should Know

10 A Candle in the Window

11 The Secret Room

12 Keep Silent

13 Unexpected Events

14 Missing

15 What Happened?

16 Backyard Slaughter

17 Snoopers

18 A Change of Plans

19 The Decision Made

20 Suspicions

21 Big Mistakes

22 Will They Come?

23 Black Hoods

24 Telling Lies

25 Telling the Truth

26 One Thing after Another

27 Everything We Feared

28 Almost Caught

29 Pumpkin Pie and Honey

30 Time to Say Goodbye

31 The Curiosity Shoppe

32 Important Information Delayed

33 Dark Streets

34 Lights Out

35 Where’s the Candle?

36 A New Life

37 Don’t You Get It?

38 What He Told Us

39 Plans for the Future

40 School Supplies

41 It’s about Time

42 A Wrinkle in the Time Train

43 No Return

48968.png

Where Is He?

C aleb stared at the face of his new Spider-Man watch. It’s been two minutes and thirty seconds, DeeAnn. Should we go in the house and find out what they’re doing?

Not yet. I went to the screen door and peered inside our great-uncle’s house.

Three minutes on the dot! You think we’ll still get to go on our Williamsburg trip with Uncle Azer?

Obviously not if he’s sick…or something. It was the or something that worried me.

I wanna see those swords he promised to show me. My little brother sliced the air with an imaginary weapon.

When Uncle Azer had discovered there’d be no Quesenberry family vacation this year, he planned something big for us kids. A journey back in American history to Colonial Williamsburg, he said. You twins deserve a celebration for your twelfth birthday. And of course we can’t forget you, Caleb. He’d ruffled my little brother’s hair and said the limousine would arrive at eight o’clock sharp, so we should be up and ready to go.

Except he never arrived.

We’d waited at the front window, listening to the lightning cracks and thunder booms as we watched the rain. He hadn’t answered any phone calls, so an hour later Caleb and I were on our uncle’s porch while Mom and Leon checked inside his house.

I opened the screen door. Hey, what’s happening in there? No answer. Caleb, I’m going in. Do not leave the property. Daddy wouldn’t like it because this isn’t our area. I knew the Del Ray neighborhood seemed safe, but you never knew what that seven-year-old kid might decide to do.

Just as I stepped inside, tires squealed on the street. The horrible memory came back—our poodle, Suzette, dead as a car sped away. What if Uncle Azer was hurt like Suzette? I couldn’t face that. Would I never get over feeling sick at the sight of blood? Such a phobia, though, wasn’t nearly as important as our uncle. I steeled myself and marched into the living room. Is Uncle Azer okay? I called.

Leon rounded the corner. "He’s not on the premises. For the language-impaired like you, dear sister, that means the house and environs."

I started to stick my tongue out at him, but I had been practicing acting more mature.

Mom came out of the bedroom. DeeAnn, go see if his car’s in the garage.

I ran through the drizzle to the garage side door. His white SUV almost filled the small, dark building. What if he was slumped over in the driver’s seat? My feet didn’t want to move. I’d take a quick look then scream for help if necessary. After inching toward the car, I peeked through the window.

Empty.

I opened the back hatch. Suitcase loaded and ready to go.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Our uncle had taken us on gobs of trips all over Washington, DC. He always picked us up at our house in Alexandria, Virginia, and he’d never been late. Each time he’d say, I hope you kids brought your piggy banks. We’d giggle because we knew he’d buy us anything. Now where was he? Had he walked someplace nearby? If so, why?

Back in the house, I announced, Car in the garage. The living room looked exactly as always—cluttered. Scientific American and Quantum Mechanics magazines covered the coffee table. You might think a tornado had whirled through—even worse than my messy room.

A stick of gum, Uncle Azer’s favorite treat, lay on the table. He’d always pass the pack around and say, Don’t ever smoke like I used to, or you’ll end up with a raspy voice and the urge to keep something in your mouth.

I unwrapped the gum and dropped its paper on the table. Leon frowned at me as he threw my wrapper in a wastebasket. Yeah, yeah—Mister Clean!

I sniffed, half expecting to smell cookies baking as usual. Sometimes when we were eating Uncle Azer’s special gingersnaps, he’d say, Let’s watch a Nova space show. We’d all climb on the couch beside him as he chose a DVD from what he called his time-warp shelf.

Hey, guys! I found something, Leon yelled from the study. The rest of us ran to him. This envelope says IMPORTANT TO READ IF I GO MISSING.

Mom opened it and removed a paper. Dear family, if you are reading this, then you are looking for me. If so, I’ve no doubt left this area and made a journey to elsewhere.

Without informing us? Leon said. He’d never do that!

Mom kept reading. I’ve always realized I might depart at a moment’s notice, and I have long wondered whether to tell you the secret I’ve hidden for almost forty years.

A forty-year-old secret? No way! Caleb said. Little brother couldn’t keep anything under wraps for more than five minutes.

Mom ignored the boys and read on. But it’s best to let you remember me as the person you’ve always known. Please accept that I will not return, and don’t file a missing-person report. I love you all dearly, but I am ready to move on to the next life awaiting me. Everyone, choose a memento, something to remind you of me. I’ll see you in the Great Forever. Your loving uncle, Eliezer.

His formal name sounded funny. My brother and I couldn’t pronounce it when we were toddlers, so we’d come up with a shortened version—A-zer.

Mom’s eyebrows scrunched together.

Leon pulled the note close to his glasses. This is dated over five years ago. That’s strange.

Dropping to the floor, Caleb started bawling. The Great Forever! It’s either heaven or outer space. He’s probably dead! He began chewing on his collar.

Caleb! Mom lifted him up. Don’t even think such a thing. There’s a logical explanation—though who knows what? Taking out her phone, she hit Daddy’s speed-dial number. Your father might be back at the White House after the motorcade.

Thank goodness he was headed home, only ten minutes away on the Fourteenth Street Bridge. Being a Secret Service agent, Daddy might know what to do.

Leon went into his deep-thoughts gaze. Suddenly he got his aha look. This note says, ‘the person you’ve always known.’ There’s the clue. He snapped his fingers. It’s clear—our uncle’s not the person he seemed to be. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. I’ve figured out what happened—he’s been in the Witness Protection Program all these years. You know, the system where they relocate people who testify for the government against gangsters. The last book I read had a man in the Witness Protection Program. Maybe Uncle Azer helped incarcerate a Mafia gangster and sent him to prison a long time ago.

No waaaay! Caleb’s eyes grew to the size of quarters.

Oh yeah, it happens. Leon nodded. So the FBI gave him the new identity of Eliezer Quesenberry. When he came to Alexandria, he had the same name we have, so he joined our family. Dad said Uncle Azer moved here when Dad was little. After Grandpa Quesenberry died.

How’s that explain why he disappeared today? I asked.

Easy! The criminal he’d helped put away got out of prison and was closing in on him. So now he’s had to make a fast getaway and start over somewhere else. Leon smacked one fist into the other. That’s the explanation! He’s elsewhere, and we’ll never know where.

You read too much detective fiction, Mom said. Or maybe you’ve heard too many of your father’s stories about conspiracies against the president.

I usually don’t agree with Mister Perfect about anything, but this idea sounded possible…sort of.

Caleb jumped all over Leon’s theory. Okay, good! He’s not dead but living a new life in some other town. He sat on the coffee table. But why didn’t he wait ’til after Williamsburg to leave, huh? That wasn’t very nice.

Daddy soon arrived and began looking through the house for clues. I’ll file a missing-person report anyway, he said. As Caleb started out the front door, Daddy said, Stay on the porch, son. Some neighbors we don’t know have moved in. How predictable! Even though Leon and I finally had cell phones, we still weren’t allowed off our block without an adult. Adventurous excitement? Not for kids whose Dad’s job is searching crowds for assassins of the president of the United States. Glamorous job but not good for his kids!

Plenty of excitement today, though. Just not the good kind. Surely this was a bad dream. Our uncle would show up any minute and say, I was talking to a neighbor and lost track of time.

It didn’t happen.

48968.png

Best Friends Forever

W hen I got home, I found my phone and texted Latisha to come over. She texted back that she had something to show me, then added, ? aren’t U in WB? I said I’d tell her in person. The rain had stopped, so I went on the porch to wait for her.

My best friend and I always told each other every important detail of every single day. No matter I was a year older, we’d grown up experiencing lots of firsts together—like ballet lessons, sleepovers, and getting our American Girl dolls. Recently, we’d both got our first smart phones. Lots of internet restrictions for both of us, but at least we could text.

She had more neighborhood freedom than I did. Latisha was allowed to ride her bike several blocks alone and even cross a busy street. She often came to visit me. Every time I’d point out her privileges to Daddy, he’d say, Different families, different rules. Yeah, right!

She wheeled into my drive. Hey! she said. After dropping her kickstand, she removed her American Girl doll along with a folder from the basket. I needed to tell her soon about my decision to keep my doll, Kirstin, on the shelf starting this summer. Switching to middle school seemed a good time for that. I’d miss Latisha next year, still at George Mason Elementary in fifth grade.

She frowned. Okay, why aren’t you in Williamsburg?

Change of plans. I’d hear her news first because if I got started crying, that would spoil what she had to tell me.

We went up to the porch swing, and she handed Addy to me. Guess what?

You found out you’re getting in Mrs. McGhee-Bailey’s class? You’ll love her.

Don’t know my teacher yet. I’m talking about Addy. She has a new last name. I took the doll, her skin the color of Latisha’s—creamy milk chocolate. The beautiful doll was so pretty, just like Latisha. She’s now officially Addy Walker Yancey Donaldson.

Yancey? Why add that name?

She opened the folder and pulled out a page with lots of names. Dad photocopied an old list. The handwriting looked like calligraphy with swirly curlycues and perfect letters. She pointed just past halfway down to four names ending in Yancey. One of them was Pearl. "Dad’s genealogy research proves this Pearl was my great-great-great-great grandmother. She later married a man named Donaldson. Aren’t you amazed to see a copy of writing that’s over 150 years old? I can’t wait for my grandma to see this. She held the paper toward me. Dad made a bunch of copies. Wanna keep this to show your family?"

Awesome! I took the paper.

She put her hand on a pearl dangling from a silver chain. This is what Dad gave me in memory of my ancestor. She was a slave before she got freedom. I touched her necklace. You’ll think of Pearl every time you wear this.A memory of Uncle Azer’s gold locket flashed into my mind. The necklace was oval, about the size of a silver dollar, with a pale pink rose and green leaves. Uncle Azer’s note told us to choose mementos. Maybe that locket would be mine if I found it—provided he never came back. I wiped a tear away. I’d rather have him than jewelry.

I’ll miss you when I’m at Grandma’s. Let’s text every day.

I burst into tears. She put an arm around me. Oh, I’ll be gone only three weeks. And it’s not until August. We have two more months together. Don’t cry. She patted my back.

No, it’s something else. A scary mystery. Her mouth stayed open as I told her the story. We sat in the swing for another hour, talking about possibilities. I wiped my eyes. I can’t imagine not having Uncle Azer here.

I can’t either. He was so fun and always bringing some new present. I was visiting you that day he gave you Kirstin, remember? She touched my hand. He said he chose her because she’s from 1854. Did you ever find out why he said that was a special year?

I still don’t have a clue.

As it turned out, we had no clues about Uncle Azer two weeks later, though Leon’s idea seemed the most likely. Often our dinnertime conversation turned to the Witness Protection Program. Leon said, People get alterations in hair color and even go through facial surgery.

I’ll bet somewhere Uncle Azer has bright red hair and a pudgy nose with a silver ring. Caleb giggled.

You laugh at the most absurd things, Leon told him.

So what? My imagination’s great. My teacher said so. Mrs. Dean never lies.

Leon ignored him. People surreptitiously hide their real identity and join new families.

Another big word for me to look up. I wasn’t about to ask and let him smirk at me.

Dad paused his fork in the air. Humm. Uncle Azer’s been in my life as long as I can remember. My mother always referred to him as ‘Uncle.’ The FBI did a background check on all my relatives before I got my job. Whatever his history, it didn’t keep me out of the Secret Service.

Caleb stuffed his mouth full of pizza. What about his eyes? If he’s not my relative, how come he matches me with one green and one brown eye?

Good point, Dad agreed. But there’s no one left in my family to ask about him.

During early July the mystery often popped up. Maybe he got amnesia and wandered away, didn’t remember his name. But he always carried his driver’s license in his billfold, which we never found. Or drug addicts could have kidnapped him for a ransom. But nobody called to ask for money. Just because he’d written that letter five years ago didn’t rule out something unexpected happening.

In spite of Dad’s FBI connections and the missing-person report, by the middle of July we still hadn’t heard one thing. Even Mom began to accept Leon’s idea of the Witness Protection Program.

Daddy, Caleb said one night at dinner, why doesn’t your FBI friend tell you if Uncle Azer is in that protection program?

He wouldn’t be allowed to tell me even if he knew. Daddy folded his napkin. Kids, it’s time we focused on some different conversations. Caleb, how was ball practice today?

Wham—I whacked the ball clear past the outfielder. He started to demonstrate with a meatball and his knife, but Daddy stopped that in a hurry.

In early August, Daddy pulled another conversation away from the disappearance to ask when Latisha would be leaving.

In three days. And she’s flying all by herself, you know. I pooched out my lower lip. Nothing exciting ever happens to me ’cause I’m not allowed to do anything.

He shook his head. I can’t comprehend her folks’ allowing her a solo trip to Canada at the age of eleven, even if an airline attendant is in charge. No surprise there. When would he let us visit Nana and Papa by ourselves on a plane? Probably when we were twenty-one.

The day before Latisha planned to leave, Daddy said we couldn’t keep paying rent on our uncle’s house, so we all went over to start boxing up Uncle Azer’s stuff. No one spoke as we walked into the musty-smelling house—no gingersnaps baking.

Mom said we should choose our mementos. Caleb claimed Uncle Azer’s model steam engine and train, set up on his dining table. Leon chose a black